by DIMORRISSEY
He smiled to himself as the horse licked the sweetness from his hand.
The vet ran his hands over the thoroughbred, casting a wary glance at Colin who stood with his arms folded, a confident smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
‘Well, his pulse is extraordinarily slow. He hardly seems to have expended any energy at all.’
‘I took it a bit easy on this leg.’
The vet eyed him. ‘You made bloody good time for taking it easy.’
‘Perhaps I took a short cut,’ shrugged Colin.
‘Well, I’d like to know it then,’ muttered the vet, who knew the area well.
‘Look, is this horse fit to finish or not?’
‘All right, sonny, don’t be in such a rush. I just want to confer with someone. You go rest and get something to eat, and we’ll take care of your horse.’
‘I’d rather you just finished this and give me the okay and then we won’t bother you further.’
‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ said the vet, taking Patton’s rein. ‘I just want to walk him about a bit and check his legs. Don’t panic, mate.’
Cursing under his breath, Colin watched as the vet led the horse to the rear of one of the trucks where a pair of dusty boots dangled out of the window. The vet tugged at one foot. ‘You still’sleep, mate? You haven’t got much longer.’
The boots disappeared and a sleepy TR sat up and peered out of the window.
‘Time to go, huh?’
‘Come and have a cup of coffee and look at a horse with me, TR.’
TR stepped out of the truck and stared at the horse beside the vet. ‘That’s Patton, Colin Hanlon’s horse.’
‘I’m aware of that. He’s just come in making extremely good time, but this fellow looks like he’s been on a Sunday stroll. He must have put the pressure on him, yet the horse isn’t exhibiting any signs of exertion. If anything he seems to be running a bit slow, like he’s been in the deep freeze. I might have a suspicious nature, but young Hanlon seemed a bit too anxious, if you know what I mean. You’ve been working over there at Tingulla for a while now — what do you make of it?’
TR brushed his fingers through his hair as he walked around the horse. ‘Mmm … he’s a good strong horse, but it doesn’t sound right, and from what I’ve observed about Colin …’
TR ran his hands over Patton then leant down and pressed his ear against the horse’s ribs.
‘Y’ know, an old jockey who used to know my father told me some stories about the race game in a pub once … I wonder … Open his mouth, Doc.’
As the vet held the horse’s jaws apart, TR peered into the mouth then sniffed Patton’s breath. ‘I reckon that’s what it is … it’s known as pink sugar. I don’t know what drug it is, but here … you can see traces of pink still in the saliva on his teeth.’
As they led the horse back to the fire, TR continued. ‘Apparently they can dose a horse up so their metabolism and body functions slow right down in the early stages, then as it gets into the blood stream it gives them a heck of a wallop and they go like the clappers for a short time, then just fold up. You have to be careful of the dosage, I believe. That old jockey told me he rode a horse once who’d been given pink sugar but they timed it all wrong and the horse fell down and passed out inches from the finish!’
‘I’m only a country vet, I’m not up on racing tricks, but I figured something like that. I could possibly identify the drug from a blood sample but there’s no way I can do a test here. Well, I’ll just pull him in based on my observations. I can’t prove the horse has been illegally interfered with.’
‘Bloody foolish thing to do, I wonder why he did it?’ mused TR.
‘You will keep this to yourself, TR?’ said the vet as they saw Colin watching them from the far side of the campfire.
‘Sure,’ TR nodded, and headed for the coffee pot.
Colin finished his rum, put the metal flask back in his pocket, then approached the vet who was making notes on a pad. The vet looked up and handed Colin the reins to his horse. ‘Sorry mate, you’re out.’
‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Colin, his face reddening in anger.
‘Do I need to give you a reason?’ answered the vet quietly.
‘What’s TR been telling you? What’s he know about this? Get the officials over here,’ blustered Colin in a loud voice, causing several people to turn around and stare.
The vet spoke in a low but forceful tone. ‘Look, if you want the reason officially made public that’s fine by me. You and I know this horse can’t go on and if you want everyone else to know, just give me the nod. If not, then drop out quietly and be thankful I don’t report you to the committee. If it wasn’t for your family, believe me, I’d bloody well tell everyone.’
The vet turned and strode away as Colin tore his hat from his head and kicked it in fury.
It was sunset and a crowd had gathered at the finish line. A rope draped with colourful cloth triangles was strung across the ‘main street’ of Lachlan. Once a thriving gold rush town it was now a ghost town, visited by occasional tourists who wandered through the few decaying buildings still standing.
For a brief time, it almost resembled a town again, with a large bonfire crackling, and horses, trucks and cars parked along the dirt street. Small children, woollen beanies pulled around their ears, kept running excitedly to the fringes of the town to peer into the gathering dusk in the hope of being first to spot the winning rider.
Queenie was tired and Nareedah was slowing down, as if each leg was weighted with lead. Every part of Queenie’s body ached. Her mind was focused on each few yards ahead of her. When she had covered that, she concentrated on the challenge of the next hundred paces before her.
She had no clear idea of where she stood in the race, though she knew she must have been keeping among the fastest of the remaining riders. She walked beside Nareedah, leading her for a spell; then mounted and trotted on, standing in the stirrups to take the weight off the horse’s back. Nareedah had thrown a shoe, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Queenie patted the horse beneath her.
‘Nearly there, Needa … No matter what, we’ve finished and that’s something, old girl.’
The beginning of the old road was just visible — two grassy ruts which led into the remains of Lachlan. Queenie slowed to a walk, saving Nareedah’s energy for the last sprint to the finish line.
Suddenly she cocked her head, listening intently. She pulled Nareedah up, calmed her and listened again. Nareedah heard the faint sound too and her ears pricked.
It was coming from the left. A low growl — no, more of a groan. Queenie slipped from her horse and walked slowly into the bush.
Off the track, slumped against a tree was Dingo, clutching his side, his eyes closed in pain.
Queenie hurriedly knelt beside him. ‘Dingo, are you all right? What happened?’
He opened his eyes and started to speak, catching his breath in pain.
‘Take it easy, Dingo. Where’s your horse?’ asked Queenie.
‘Okay. Took another spill … he’s feeding. Whistle him,’ Dingo managed to gasp between painful breaths.
Queenie ran her hands over Dingo’s legs and arms feeling for broken bones.
He winced when she touched his ribs. ‘I guess I fell asleep,’ he murmured.
‘Passed out, more like it. Dingo, you shouldn’t have got back on after that fall, why did you keep going?’
He peered into her concerned green eyes. ‘You have to ask that? And I was so bloody close.’ He closed his eyes and the look of pain was as much from disappointment as discomfort.
‘You dopey old thing, Dingo,’ said Queenie fondly. ‘Come on, let’s see if you can stand — put your arm around my shoulder.’
In a businesslike manner Queenie snapped a branch from the tree and handed it to Dingo who draped his arm across her shoulders and supporting himself with the stick, managed to push himself upright.
He stood shakily leaning on the stick, and grinned at h
er. ‘Thanks, Queenie. Send one of my boys back here and tell them I’m waiting. Now move along, girl, you can win this if you don’t hang about with a silly old geezer like me.’
‘No way, Dingo, you’re still in this race too. Do you think if I gave you a boost you could get back in the saddle?’
He looked at Queenie, the light coming back into his eyes. ‘I dunno. Let’s give it a go.’
Dingo gave a shrill whistle and his horse trotted obediently to him. Queenie linked her fingers together and braced her legs as Dingo grasped the pommel and placed one foot in Queenie’s hands. ‘One … two … three …’ Dingo dragged himself up while Queenie heaved with all her strength, and somehow he managed to throw his leg over the horse. He slumped into the saddle as Queenie stumbled and fell to her knees.
‘You okay?’ asked Queenie, scrambling to her feet.
Dingo didn’t answer. He bit his lip in pain, settling his feet into the stirrups and taking the reins from Queenie.
‘Go on, Dingo — just hang on, mate. You’ll get there.’
‘Well, come on girl, let’s not fiddle about.’
Queenie smiled up at the old man in the saddle, a dark figure silhouetted against the last rays of the day. ‘I’ll be right with you, just got a minor adjustment to make.’ She slapped Dingo’s horse on the rumpshouting, ‘Go!’
The startled horse broke into a canter and sped through the trees. Without turning to look over his shoulder Dingo lifted an arm in salute.
Queenie watched him disappear as she fondled Nareedah’s ears. ‘We’ll just take a bit of a rest, old girl.’
The cry rang out from the edge of the town. ‘Rider approaching! Who is it? Who is it?’
In the falling darkness the crowd peered at the luminous white number pinned to the rider’s chest.
A cheer went up to greet Dingo, cantering steadily, holding his hat aloft and waving it in the air, a broad grin across his face, his pain forgotten.
And as Dingo approached the strip of dirt road, another shout went up. The second rider was in sight. ‘Forty-nine — that’s TR Hamilton!’
‘And here’s another rider … what a finish!’ they yelled.
‘It’s a white horse … hey, it’s Queenie HanIon, she’ll take out third place.’
‘No she bloody won’t! She’s going for second, look at her go!’
Queenie and Nareedah broke from the trees onto the road, hot on TR’s heels.
TR had been cantering easily behind Dingo but there was no way he was going to overtake the grand old man. Suddenly he looked over his shoulder to be greeted by the sound of thundering hooves bearing down on him. He kicked into a gallop — but too late. Queenie overtook him just when Dingo broke through the finish line to the cheers of the crowd.
Queenie flashed in seconds behind the winner with TR at her tail. The crowd went wild.
Dingo was helped down and he pushed his way through the happy throng to Queenie who was dismounting from Nareedah.
Dingo went to her. ‘You took your time getting here, girl. If you’d ridden like that all the way you would have got in way ahead of me.’
Queenie smiled at him. ‘I don’t think so, Dingo. You won fair and square.’
Dingo leaned forward and brushed his lips against her cheek, speaking for her alone to hear. ‘You’re a winner, Queenie Hanlon. I owe you one. When you want a favour, call me.’
Dingo was swept along in a flood of wellwishers and Queenie turned to find TR grinning at her. He held out his hand to her and winked. ‘I can see I’m going to have to watch myself when you’re around, Miss Hanlon. Congratulations.’
Queenie laughed, her eyes dancing. ‘Why thank you, Mr Hamilton. Now the score is even.’
Patrick pushed through the crowd and hugged his daughter, his heart gladdening to see the joy and laughter in her face. His only regret was Rose was not here. And Colin hadn’t even bothered to turn up to see the Tingulla team take second and third place.
The celebration of the end of the Endurance Ride continued late into the night. Sipping drinks around the campfire, Dingo and Patrick were joined by TR.
‘Dingo, do you know TR? He’s started working for me at Tingulla. TR, you know who this is of course,’ said Patrick.
TR shook hands warmly. ‘It’s an honour, Dingo.’
‘TR, eh? I’ve heard about you. Pretty good with wild horses, aren’t you?’
‘Well … I’ve made a fair living dealing with horses one way and another.’
‘You wouldn’t be interested in making some fast, big money in America, would you? Sorry Pat … don’t want to steal your boy, but he might be just the kid I’ve been looking for.’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Can’t blame a man for trying, and I can’t blame another for taking a better offer. We have no written contract.’
‘We have a handshake, Patrick — and that’s a contract in my book. But what are you talking about, Dingo?’ asked TR curiously.
‘I visit the States a bit and a mate of mine runs the biggest rodeo circuit in North America. They’re always looking for new blood and he asked me if I could find him a hotshot “Aussie cowboy” to ride a few wild ones round the circuit for him. It’s good money — provided you don’t get busted up.’
TR laughed. ‘I can’t see myself in one of those fancy satin shirts with fringes all over it and a ten gallon hat!’
Dingo slapped him on the back and winked at Patrick. ‘Well, if old Pat here gives you a hard time you can tell him you’ve got an offer in America any time you want it, TR!’
Queenie had settled Nareedah for the night and planned to head back to Tingulla at first light. She was stiff and weary and began looking for Patrick’s truck, planning to wrap herself in a blanket in the back and get some sleep.
Suddenly she spotted Colin sitting on the ground by one of the Tingulla Land Rovers. He was leaning against a wheel, holding his flask of rum and looking morose.
‘Hey, Colin, where’ve you been? Dad and I were looking for you. Did you see the finish?’
‘Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. If I hear one more person tell me how fantastic my sister is, I’ll vomit.’
Queenie sighed and sat down beside him. ‘Colin, what’s up? Why do you have to turn everything into a deadly competition between us? I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
‘Why should you care how I feel? You’ve got Dad patting you on the back every minute of the day telling you how bloody wonderful you are.’
‘Colin, don’t be like this. Dad is just as fond of you. But you make it so difficult for him to get close to you. You push everyone away all the time. I know you miss Mum — I do too — so we’ve got to stick together and help each other.’
‘You and Dad can’t help me. I’m stuck down in Sydney at boring uni while you stay at Tingulla running everything with Dad. Why do you want to try and run the place, Queenie? What am I supposed to do?’
‘Colin, when you graduate we’ll run Tingulla together — as a family. Like a board of directors. I always want to be involved in Tingulla. I love it. It’s my home.’
Colin struggled to his feet. ‘Yeah, well one day one of us is going to have to leave … and it won’t be me.’
Queenie watched him go, staggering slightly from the rum. She knew his words were spoken out of maudlin self-pity, but his resentment worried her.
The spectre of her future loomed ahead. The thought of ever leaving Tingulla was anathema to her. Yet … what if she did fall in love with someone who wanted to live elsewhere? She didn’t want to even begin contemplating such an idea.
Queenie yawned and pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She couldn’t think straight when she was tired. She wrapped a blanket around her like an Indian, and headed for the truck.
Chapter Four
The weeks spun slowly into months, and although a new routine ensured the smooth running of Tingulla, the days seemed empty.
Walking through the deserted rooms of the house, Queenie would sometimes pause, lis
tening for the soft humming of her mother as she went about her tasks, hearing her light footstep on the stair or her sweet voice teasing Patrick. The house always seemed cold, and the warmth and laughter of Rose hung in the air like a fading echo.
Millie kept the house spotless, and wholesome meals appeared with quiet efficiency. She even dotted small bunches of flowers in the house as Rose had done.
Looking at the neat posy in the centre of the dining room table, Queenie remembered her mother’s deliriously vivid arrangements scattered about the house — pottery jugs filled with fresh gum tips and wattle blossoms; trailing lengths of jasmine entwined around the bannisters; stems of bush orchids, and massive bird-of-paradise lilies springing from a large bowl.
Colin had returned to university and never wrote. Queenie and Patrick worked together with the station hands, moving sheep to better grazing paddocks as the drought continued. In areas where feed was scarce, they chopped the lower branches from trees for the sheep to eat. They were forced to sell some stock to reduce numbers, but the market was depressed — other graziers were selling too.
At night Queenie and Patrick went through the paperwork, planning for the coming shearing season and balancing the books. TR had proved to be a great asset and Patrick began to rely on his opinions, involving him more and more in helping to keep the property running smoothly.
Occasionally TR would join Patrick for a beer at the end of the day and they would talk about the prospects of breeding a strong line of stockhorses. TR talked of crossing the thoroughbreds with some good bush stock. But although he listened with interest, Patrick was reluctant to commit himself to the venture.
Queenie never joined her father and his capable new right-hand man. As Millie prepared the evening meal she would sit in the kitchen talking to her about supplies and the care of the men on the station, or simply making small talk. TR didn’t join them for dinner, but ate with the station hands and returned to the shearing quarters where he shared a room with one of the jackaroos.
As they worked together, Queenie watched her father, noticing how his attention would wander and how he would stop and stare into the distance; or would become distracted and let little details slip past him — something he would never have done before Rose died.
